Secret Wishes and Deadly Deals
by Mummyluvr
Summary: After spending 2 months alone while Sam tries to save him, Dean wishes for just a little time with someone who'll always care his mother.  problem is, wishes don't come true without a price... or a certain level of awkwardness. PostAHBL2
1. Chapter 1

Ok, time for another new fic. I'm really not too sure about this one, so reviews are greatly appreciated :)

**Title:** Secret Wishes and Deadly Deals

Su**mmary:** After spending 2 months alone while Sam tries to save him, Dean wishes for just a little time with someone who'll always care- his mother. Problem is, wishes don't come true without a price... or a certain level of awkwardness.

**Warnings:** Spoilers for All Hell Breaks Loose, Part 2... if anyone lives under a rock and hasn't seen it yet...

**Rating:** T

**Disclaimer:** So not mine. Maybe it's not even Kripke's anymore. Maybe it belongs to Dawn Ostroff and the CW, who will turn it into a sex-fest if they get the chance. Run, Kripke, Run! Go to NBC... or CBS... or ABC... or Sci-Fi!!!!!

* * *

Secret Wishes and Deadly Deals

One year. One year was all he had left, and he was going to spend it alone. Sam was making sure of that.

Sighing, Dean rolled off his bed and headed to the door of the latest run-down motel room. He glanced over his shoulder at his brother's sleeping form. Sam had spent the entire day at the local library, trying to find some way to save his brother from the fires of Hell. As always, he had come stumbling back in at closing time with nothing useful.

Two months had passed since the incident with the Devil's Gate in Wyoming, and Sam had spent all of his time researching ways to get Dean out of the deal he'd made. He didn't care that Dean was constantly begging him to stop, didn't care that finding a loophole would mean certain death, didn't even listen when his brother begged for some family time before the year was up.

What that amounted to was Sam getting up early to follow a lead and coming home late at night. He didn't talk to his brother, didn't eat (as far as Dean knew), and hadn't showered (as far as Dean had seen) in the past two months.

The older brother had spent his days watching crappy TV shows, wondering what to eat that night for dinner, ignoring the ringing phone as Bobby tried to call and check on him. He was always alone, Sam too busy trying to save him to actually spend time with him. It was kind of getting to him.

Dean opened the door and stepped out into the cool night, taking a deep breath. He sat down on the stoop in front of the door and stared up at the sparkling stars that dotted the sky.

He was starting to wonder if he'd made the right choice by telling Sam the truth. If he'd just lied, it would have been so much easier. They would have spent their final year together hunting down the demons that had escaped. They would actually be doing something together, side-by-side, like brothers.

But Dean hadn't withheld information. He'd told the truth and the truth had hurt. He spent his days alone in grimy motel rooms, waiting for Sam to come running in with some miracle solution that couldn't possibly go wrong.

Sam never found any answers, though, just more possibilities and leads that had to be followed. It was an endless cycle.

He sighed, leaning back until he was propped uncomfortably up against the door, still watching the sky. A small spark caught his eye and he watched a shooting star fly across his field of vision.

"All right," Dean whispered, "I know it didn't quite work out the last time I made a wish, but I don't see any tattooed bald guys hanging around, so it should be safe, right? Ok, well, I'm gonna do the same thing I did then. I wish mom was here. Maybe then I'd have a little human companionship while the clock runs out, huh?"

He sat on the stoop and stared up at the sky, smiling at the stupidity of wishing on a falling star. Wishes don't come true, not without a price. Dean had learned that the hard way.

o0o0o0o0o0o

Dean opened his eyes, looking around the room and moaning deep in his throat. He'd stumbled back into the room earlier that morning after sitting outside and watching the stars for what seemed to be an eternity.

Sniffling, he rolled onto his side, looking towards Sam's bed. It wasn't empty.

Dean bolted up, staring at his brother, who was perched on the edge of his bed, watching the older man sleep. "What are you doing?" Dean asked, "shouldn't you be at the library?"

Sam smiled and shook his head. "I'm not gonna leave you alone again."

"I thought-"

"Nope. I think I'm gonna stay today. Maybe tomorrow, too, if they'll let me."

"They?"

Sammy nodded. "Do you think that wishes can come true, Dean?"

"That's a stupid question to ask, especially if you're asking me. No, Sam, I don't think wishes can come true. Not for free, anyway."

"I think you should rethink that opinion, honey. I'm not Sam."

Dean blinked. "Excuse me?"

Sam smiled. "Your wish. You wanted me to come spend some time with you. It came true. Here I am."

"That's impossible."

"Nothing's impossible. You should know that by now."

"You can't be…"

Sam stood up, took a step, and sat down beside his brother. "I know it's weird," he said, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder, "it's weird for me, too. But you're not exactly the social butterfly you could be. My options here were kind of limited."

Dean pulled away, eyes wide. "No way. If this is some kind of sick joke-"

"Close your eyes."

"What?"

"Close your eyes, son."

"Why?"

Sam smiled. "Sometimes you can see more clearly if you can't see at all. You'll know what I'm talking about if you just do it."

"You're not gonna rape me, are you?"

"Dean Jonathan Winchester!"

"All right, fine," Dean sighed, rolling his eyes, "but I swear, dude, if you try to shave my head or something…" He let his eyes close.

It wasn't long before Dean felt a hand on the side of his face, a warm hand, a large hand. It felt right somehow, familiar. It fit. The bed shifted, the person sitting beside him rising to feet that might not really be his, and another hand came up to cup the other side of his face.

It wasn't so weird any more, the possibility of possession not so outlandish. Dean let himself relax, drinking in the warmth that rolled off the other body toward him. For the first time since leaving the world the djinn had created for him, he felt like he was home.

He felt something graze the top of his head, a soft touch, too tender to come from a man who'd spent his life hunting down evil. It took a moment to realize what had happened, to figure out what it had been. She'd kissed him.

Dean opened his eyes and looked up at his brother. "Mom?"

Sam nodded, sitting back down and wrapping an arm around Dean's shoulders. "See? Sometimes it takes more than sight to truly recognize a person." She ran Sam's hand up and down her oldest son's back, smiling as tears welled up in his eyes.

"Y-you… came back for me?"

"Well I wasn't gonna leave you."

Dean gulped, took a shaky breath, closed his eyes, and leaned into the body beside him. Strong arms closed around him and held him close while a large hand stroked his hair and a deep voice whispered nonsense words to calm his trembling body.

* * *

So, yeah. I've got a funny story about how this one came to be. Ask me to tell it in your review (hint, hint) and I will :) 


	2. Chapter 2

Well, at least someone showed an interest in this :)

So, anyway, a couple of weeks ago I was reading a story on (here) where John was talking to Sam and thinking about why he liked asking Sam questions. Sam was like his mom, and it gave John an idea as to how Mary would have answered. Sometimes, it even seemed like she was speaking through him. A lightbulb went off in my head, and this story resulted. As always, reviews are appreciated. Seriously. Don't make me beg...

* * *

He sat in a chair, watching her every move, totally transfixed. Dean had never realized it before, but he'd never seen Sam cook. It was almost fun to watch.

"Honestly," Mary sighed, shaking Sam's head as she stirred the pot that sat on the old room's stove, "I tell you I'll make you anything you want to eat and you pick Spaghetti-Os."

"What can I say," Dean shrugged, "it's a classic." He smiled, loving the idea of someone actually fixing him what he wanted. Most of his eating habits had been dictated by what Sam had been in the mood for while they were growing up, and the change was more than welcome.

After Dean had finished his morning breakdown, the family had headed to the local superstore for supplies. The whole situation had still been new, and the hunter had wound up following his mother around like a lost puppy, unable to keep his eyes off her- even though she didn't exactly look like herself.

Still smiling, Dean checked his watch. It was almost noon. The day seemed to be passing too fast, his time growing too thin. "How long did you say you were gonna stay, mom?" he asked, loving the way the last word felt on his lips.

"I'm not sure, honey," she replied, turning to give him a sad look. "It depends on a lot of things. Unfortunately, I don't have any control over it."

His shoulders slumped as she turned back to the stove. "If you had control…?"

"I would stay in a heartbeat," Mary smiled, walking over with a bowl of pasta and running a hand down the side of his face, "you know that."

He smiled up at her. "Yeah. Yeah, I do." He looked down at his lunch, wishing for time to slow, wanting just a few more days before life and reality and deadly deals took over once again.

"What do you want to do today?" she asked, sitting down with her own bowl.

"You're asking _me_?"

"Of course." She made it sound like it was common sense, like he always got his way, like people actually cared about him.

Dean shrugged. "I don't know. Just… hang out, I guess. Spend time together. Talk, maybe."

Mary nodded. "You looked surprised that I would ask."

"Wasn't expecting it."

"Why not?"

He glanced down at his lunch. When he looked back up he saw, with some amusement, that she was using Sammy's puppy-dog eyes to the fullest extent. "People don't tend to ask me stuff like that," he said.

"Any idea why?"

Dean sighed, weighing his options in his mind. He could lie, tell her that he had no idea, tell her that everything was fine and his life was full of lollipops and candy canes. But she was his mother and he'd missed her and lying wouldn't be right.

So he told her the truth, knew that she wouldn't laugh at him or get mad or walk away like so many before. She would wrap her arms- _Sam's_ arms- around him and comfort him and tell him that he wasn't worthless, that everyone was wrong, that people did care about him. He would believe her. Of course he would believe her. She was his mother.

"They don't care. It doesn't matter what I think because I'm always wrong."

"That's not true."

"I'm not like other people. I've tried my whole life to figure out what's wrong with me and I can't do it. I do everything that people ask me to, and they still walk away. They leave. You, and dad, and Sam, and Cassie, and Jo. Everyone I ever thought cared about me left. Why?"

"Oh, honey." She slid out of her seat and walked around the table to sit beside him. "That's not true. I came back for you, your father loves you so much more than he'd ever show, and I know for a fact that Sam cares deeply for you."

"How?"

She smiled. "I'm in his head, remember?"

"Then why's he been ignoring me?"

"He's just trying to help," she said softly, wrapping an arm around him and resting Sam's chin on his head as he leaned into the embrace, "trust me, after this, he'll be around more."

He nodded, wrapping his arms tightly around her and burying his face in his brother's chest. "Why leave, though?"

"There are some things that people have no control over. I didn't have a choice. Your father saved your life. Sam thought you wanted him to be happy-"

"I do."

"I know. It'll be ok. Everything's going to work out. Sammy's not going to leave you again."

"If he can last the year."

"He can last."

Dean looked up at her, eyes shining. "Mom, I'm scared."

"I know you are," she breathed, pulling him closer and stroking his hair, "we all are."

o0o0o0o0o0o

He was surprised that he could still look at her without feeling his face heat up. He'd bared his heart and soul and insecurities, revealed that, somewhere deep down, he was broken. He should have been embarrassed, shouldn't have been able to look into his brother's eyes without feeling the shame that came with showing weakness.

It was different than it normally was, though. In the past, when Dean had broken down, he'd recovered quickly with some sort of joke while Sam stared at him like he'd sprouted wings.

This time… this time seemed better, not so fragile, so meaningless, so wrong. He'd actually been comforted,really _comforted_, for the first time since his mother's death. He'd left the moment feeling better instead of worse, worth more instead of less, complete instead of empty. She'd seemed to understand. She hadn't judged him, hadn't laughed, hadn't left. She wasn't like everyone else, and he'd realized with pain that he missed her because of that.

"You all right, son?"

Dean started, that anticipated heat finally creeping into his face. He hadn't realized he'd been staring. "Yeah. Just lost in thought, I guess." He averted his eyes, staring down at his hands, which were folded, as if in prayer, in front of him.

After their quick lunch, Dean and his mother had laid out on their beds; Dean to watch TV, Mary to flip through the only book the brothers possessed on wishes. It had been quiet, neither one speaking until she'd felt his eyes on her.

"What were you thinking about?"

Dean shrugged. "What happened at lunch. I don't know if you know, but I'm not usually one to talk about stuff like that."

She put the book down and turned toward him. "Stuff like what?"

"All that emotional crap Sammy seems to like so much."

"Any reason why?"

He shrugged again. "People see what's really in here, they run. It scares them. It scares Sam. Opening up just makes everything worse."

She nodded. "But today?"

"Today was different. No one's ever done that before. No one's ever tried to help. Today was like… like I was worth something." He wasn't quite sure why he was still talking, why he was spilling his guts again when a simple 'whatever' would have sufficed, but it felt right and it felt good and it felt freeing.

"You honestly think you're worthless?"

"I sold my soul to resurrect the dead, didn't I?"

"But why? What could possibly make you think that, Dean?"

"My own brother looked me in the eye and told me."

Mary shook her head, Sam's hair flopping slightly, covering his eyes. "What color were the eyes you looked into?"

"Black. But that doesn't matter. It was still him. Just like it was still dad." Damn, once he got going, he really couldn't stop, could he? Still, it felt different than it usually did.

"You know where those things really came from, don't you?"

Dean sighed. "Demons read minds, so… me?"

She nodded, sitting up on her bed and stretching before moving to sit beside him. "You. You have such a low opinion of yourself, it's like you have no idea what an incredible person you've become."

"How's that?" he asked.

Mary smiled. "Well, you were willing to give up your life and soul for your brother. That's very rare. Especially since you think he hates you."

"How did you-?"

She put a hand on his head and ruffled his short hair. "There really have been angels watching over you."

"And you let Sam die?"

Mary stared at him for a second, and Dean was sure she was going to pull Sam's hand away and leave. Instead, she smiled sadly. "I said watching over, not interfering. I couldn't have helped. And how did this become about Sam? I thought we talking about you."

Dean managed a weak smile. "What can I say, I'm a subject-changer by nature. Be glad I'm not cracking a dirty joke."

"You're a wonderful person, whether you see it or not. Stubborn as your father and unable to actually see yourself for what you are, but wonderful, nonetheless. I want you to remember that."

"Sure."

"You still don't believe me," she said, "but I can't let you die believing that you're worthless. Without you, Sammy wouldn't be alive right now."

"Without me, dad wouldn't be dead, altering the timeline we know, and possibly saving Sam anyway."

"Without you," she said softly, leaning close so he could hear her hushed voice, "who would have taken care of them? Who would have made sure the baby was fed? Who would have tended your father's wounds? Walked Sammy to school? Made sure they were all right?"

"Somebody would have-"

"You are worth more to this family than you'll ever know, Dean, more than they'll ever know. Without you, there would be no them."

He gulped, staring at her, at Sam, at the handsome features that looked so earnest, so sure, so determined to make him see the truth. Maybe he had taken care of Sam while their dad was out hunting, but so what? Anyone could have done that. And John could have stumbled into an emergency room if he was hurt badly enough. Right?

But John had hated hospitals. They asked too many questions. And he never trusted strangers with his sons. It was why he'd left Sam with Dean so many times. It was why he taught Dean to cook, taught him first aid, taught him to shoot. Without those skills, people could die.

Without someone to perform those skills, people could die.

And a light bulb went off in his head, everything clicking together, past and present and future making so much sense. Suddenly, they didn't hate him like he'd always thought. Suddenly, he was needed, as caretaker and nanny and medic, as father and mother and brother and son, as soldier and commander. He'd been needed.

"You get it, don't you?" Mary asked, shocking Dean out of his revelation. "You know?"

Dean nodded, his mind still reeling, realizing that he'd never heard his brother's voice sound so soft and comforting as it did then. "Can't believe I missed it."

She leaned away, rubbing a hand across his back. "Everyone missed it. It's not your fault."

A slow smile crossed the hunter's face. "None of it is. The things I always blamed myself for…" he trailed off, staring up at her, up at Sam. Something felt different, felt lighter. Something he'd always carried, something heavy that had weighed down on him for longer than he could remember, had lifted. It felt good.

"Better now?" Mary asked, smiling at her son. Dean nodded. "Good."

o0o0o0o0o

Dean laid back on his bed and watched the shadows flick across the ceiling as his mother pulled the ratty motel comforter up to his chin. "You're not gonna be here when I wake up, are you?" he asked.

Mary sighed. "Maybe. Maybe not. If I could, I would be. You know that."

He nodded. "Yeah."

"Good." She sat down on the bed beside him, staring down at him, and smiled. "Even though you might not see me tomorrow, I want you to know that I'm still going to be here." She ran a hand down the side of his face, her smile brightening as he leaned into the touch.

"Yeah," he muttered, eyelids fluttering despite his best efforts to keep them open.

"You have to trust that things are going to be better."

Dean nodded weakly, smiling as she began to stroke his hair, singing softly to help him drift off to sleep. He couldn't remember ever feeling so safe before, not since the fire. He was comfortable, loved. Someone actually cared enough about him to help him navigate into the soft darkness of sleep, to stay up and watch him and make sure that nightmares didn't plague his dreams.

His final thought before letting sleep take him, a thought that would normally have made him shudder with disgust, was that Sam actually had an ok singing voice.


	3. Chapter 3

All right. Well, thanks to everyone who's been reviewing. Who's ready for chapter 3?

* * *

Dean awoke to the smell of bacon sizzling in a frying pan. He sat up quickly and looked around, a slight crick in his neck protesting at the movement, to see Sam standing over the stove, cooking.

The older hunter couldn't stop the smile from spreading across his face as connections were made in his groggy mind. "You're still here?"

Sam turned around, smiling. "Told you I wouldn't leave, kiddo."

Dean's grin faded a bit. "Kiddo?"

"It's a term of affection."

"Yeah. I know. It's just… I can't remember you ever calling me that before, mom."

She turned back to their breakfast. "Thought I'd try something new. Would you prefer a different nickname?"

"No, it's fine. I guess I'm just surprised to see you here. Thought you had to leave."

"Got an extension."

"How long?" he asked, scooting to the edge of his bed and trying to keep any sounds of hopeful longing from his voice.

She shrugged. "As long as you'll have me."

"The whole year?"

"What's left of it." Mary turned back toward him, two plates of bacon in her hands. "You want toast?"

"No, thanks," he said, again unable to keep from smiling. His final year on earth and he wouldn't have to spend it alone. He would get to spend it with someone who loved him, who would take care of him, who cared about how he felt and wouldn't laugh or walk away, no matter what. It seemed too good to be true. "You're really gonna stay?"

"Unless you want me to leave, son."

"No. I just, um, what about Sammy?"

"What about him?"

"Well, no offense, but you're-"

"Using him as my meat puppet?"

Dean blinked. "Uh, yeah."

"Don't worry," she smiled, sitting down at the kitchen table and nodding toward the chair that sat across from her, "he's fine with it. Really enjoying the quality time."

"I'll bet," Dean muttered, sitting down at the table and staring at his breakfast. Something was different in the room. It was chillier than it had been the night before, not as homey.

"So," Mary said, startling Dean from his thoughts, "what should we do today?"

Dean shrugged, shoving a piece of bacon into his mouth. "Dunno."

"Well, there's got to be something you want to do."

"We could watch TV," he suggested, "I hear the CW's got a new show about a farmer looking for a wife. It replaced that one about the ghost-busting valley girl and her British friend."

"You watched a show about hunters?"

"Sam did. Back when there were guys on it. Sometimes I wonder about him."

Mary nodded slowly, watching him eat. "Anything else on?"

"Sexed-up doctors or soap opera-y crime scene investigators."

"Sounds riveting."

Dean smirked. "What can I say, it's Thursday. We could go see a movie. There's one about a painter that's gaining a solid following on the web. Something about the star."

"Maybe we could just stay here and talk," she offered, "I'd like to know more about this deal you made."

"There's really nothing to know. I sold my soul to save my brother."

"Yes," she said, looking back down at her plate, "but what if you change your mind?"

"What do you mean?"

"If you try to weasel out of your bargain, what happens?"

"Sam dies."

Mary glanced at him. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"I can see how that would be a problem."

Dean nodded, finishing off his breakfast. "Backing out really isn't an option," he said, "there's no way around it."

Mary nodded, pushing her own plate towards the center of the table. "Of course. At least you'll get one good year out of it, though, right?"

Dean nodded absently, licking grease off his fingers. There was something off about her tone of voice, but he was too happy to really pay attention.

o0o0o0o0o

"I've got it!"

Dean jumped at the sound of the voice. He'd been flipping through the grainy channels on the television, really not paying attention to what his mother was doing, so the sudden outburst took him by surprise. "Got what?"

"I know how to save your soul," she said, smiling widely as she turned from the sink, where she'd been busy washing the breakfast dishes, to look at him.

"Ok. How?"

She crossed the room and sat down beside him on the bed, still smiling. "Meg."

"What about Meg?"

"She fell out of a seventh storey window and didn't die," Mary clarified, "the demon's spirit was keeping her body alive."

"So?"

"So," she gushed excitedly, "as long as I'm here, you don't have to be alone. That's what you're really scared of, right? That's why you made the deal."

"I'm not gonna kill Sam."

"You won't be killing him," she explained, taking his hand, "not as long as I'm here."

Dean pulled his hand away, startled. The day before, his mother's touch had been warm and welcoming, inviting, reminding him of home. Today was different. It was cold and clammy and sent an icy chill up his spine. "What exactly are you talking about?"

"You welch out of this deal, and we can be together as long as you want. Honey, we can be a family again."

"You'd let your own son die?"

"I'm not going to let you burn for eternity, Dean. You can be happy."

"But Sam-"

"Think of someone other than Sam for once," she snapped, eyes flashing angrily, "think of yourself, of what you could have." She reached out and touched his face, eliciting a shudder. "We can be together, just like you wished."

He leaned away from her cold touch, pulling back, his mind reeling. She wanted him to back down, to weasel or welch his way out. She wanted him to…

It hit him suddenly, realization twisting his gut, making his skin crawl, making him feel used. He'd been wrong. Wishes never came true, no matter how badly you wanted them to. He'd made a mistake, a terrible, possibly deadly mistake.

"I-I'll think about it," he stammered, looking down at the floor, unable to meet Sam's eyes, fearing that he would see the truth flashing red there. "I'm kind of getting hungry for lunch. How about Chinese?"

"We're talking about the fate of your immortal soul and all you can think about is sweet and sour chicken?"

"I'm a guy," he shrugged, still staring at the carpet.

"Fine. We'll go eat Chinese."

"Actually, I was hoping you could go pick it up. It's so much better in those little take-out containers."

Her eyes narrowed and she placed a large hand under his chin, tilting his head up so she could look him in the eyes. "You ok, kiddo?"

Dean nodded weakly, forcing a smile. "Just thinking."

"Well, don't think too hard," she cautioned, letting go of his head and standing up, "you'll hurt yourself."

His smile faded as she walked out the door and the room began to warm up. He knew what he had to do, and there wasn't much time.


	4. Chapter 4

So, there's actually a really funny story about this chapter, too, but I'll wait till the end to tell it.

* * *

The door to the small motel room opened and Mary walked in, holding a dripping bag of Chinese take-out. "A little help here, kiddo?" she asked as the door shut behind her and the overwhelming smell of fresh paint hit her.

"Little busy right now," Dean replied, not looking up as he flipped through pages in his father's journal.

"Just come take the food," she begged, "I need to take off my shoes."

"You could leave 'em on."

"Dean," she warned, drawing out the middle of his name, almost hissing it.

"Fine," he muttered, standing up and crossing the room to take the bag from her. Again, he tried to avoid his brother's eyes, knew for sure now what was lurking just beyond the friendly green he usually saw there.

"Thank you," she huffed, leaning down to slip off Sam's shoes. "I got some extra egg rolls. I know how much you like them."

"Thanks." Dean set the bag down on the table and picked up the journal, watching as his brother straightened up.

"What are you staring at?"

Dean smirked, his eyes traveling to the ceiling over the door. She followed his gaze, looking up, anger flashing across Sammy's face. "Dean," she hissed again, this time with genuine menace in her voice, "what is this?"

"That would be a Devil's Trap. It's used for trapping demons and rending them powerless. It makes exorcisms a hell of a lot easier. But you already knew that. After all, it's what I used to try and trap you in my car back in November."

Her anger seemed to melt away, Sam's eyes turning sympathetic. "You're confused, son-"

"Don't call me that."

"And touchy. What's wrong?"

"How stupid do you think I am?"

"Dean, just explain-"

He stepped forward, toward the Trap, journal held in his hands. "I wasn't sure at first, but this morning, after breakfast, I figured it out. It was your vocabulary. You really need a thesaurus, you know. Instead of 'weasel' and 'welch' you could try 'ditch' or 'shirk' or even 'evade.' Maybe then it wouldn't have been so obvious."

"Dean-"

"And the way you say my name. You love drawing it out, don't you, honey?"

"What are you getting at?"

He stepped up to the edge of the trap and grinned at her. "I know who you are."

"And who's that?"

"You're the bitch that stole my soul."

"You offered it up," she shrugged, Sam's eyes flashing red, "it's not my fault I made the deal. What are you gonna do about it."

"Complain, actually. You went back on your bargain."

"I did not."

"You tried to make me-"

"It's called free will, Deanster. I just planted the idea in your head. It wouldn't have been my fault if you had decided to back out."

He narrowed his eyes. "And what were you gonna do after Sam had died, huh?"

"Leave, of course. It's more fun that way."

"Well, I'm not gonna stand for it."

"What are you gonna do?" she sneered, crossing Sam's arms over his chest and shifting her weight to one foot, sticking one hip toward the wall in a clearly feminine pose that made Dean wish he had a camera.

"I'm gonna make a deal."

She snorted. "What do you have to give? I've already got your soul."

"Your freedom," he said softly, stepping away from the demon and glancing down at the journal.

"You're gonna exorcise me? Do you know what that'll do to your brother?"

"Help him? Because it sure won't kill him. The terms of our deal were pretty clear: if I tried to back out, Sam would die. I'm not backing out, I'm just sending you to Hell. That doesn't save me."

She nodded. "Smart. But you mentioned another bargain?"

Dean smirked, looking back up at the Trap he'd painted on the ceiling while she'd been out. She was powerless, couldn't hurt him, couldn't make good on her fine-print. At least, he hoped that was the case. "I won't send you back if you release me from our previous deal with no ill effects toward myself or my brother. That means no death, no backstabbing, no crossing your fingers behind your back."

"No."

He nodded and turned back to the open journal. "See you in ten months, then." He started to read.

"Wait!"

"What?"

"This deal… I don't think you understand."

"I understand perfectly. You get to continue roaming freely and making deals with idiotic saps like myself, and Sam and I go on living our lives without having to worry about suddenly dropping dead."

She smiled, a cold expression, clever, like she knew something he didn't. "You do realize," she said softly, "that if I agree to this you'll have to swap spit with your brother, right?"

"Small price to pay."

"I don't know. Years of therapy-"

"As opposed to spending a year alone in crappy motel rooms while he searches for something he'll never find? I'll take an illegal make-out session, thanks."

She shifted her weight, sticking Sam's other hip out. "Well, well. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're gay for your brother."

"Do you want to keep doing what you're doing, or do you want to become my one-demon welcoming committee to Hell?"

"Oh, there'll be more than one."

"Answer me."

She sighed, blowing up to clear Sam's hair from his eyes. "Fine. You let me go and I'll let you live."

"Without…"

An eye roll. "Without any ill effects for you or your brother."

"Which brother?"

"You have more than one?"

"It's a possibility. Just want to be as specific as possible."

"Well," she smiled, "you're not as stupid as I thought, are you? All right. You let me go, and you'll be free from the last deal we made before the Devil's Gate was opened. As an added bonus, because I'm feeling so generous today, you and Sam won't have to worry about anybody randomly dropping dead because of this. Happy?"

"Ecstatic."

She slinked up to the edge of the trap, eyes flashing again. She licked Sam's lips and winked. "Ready?"

Dean stepped up to the boundary and nodded. The two bodies moved closer to each other and he closed his eyes. Their lips touched momentarily, just barely, and he tried to pull away, but found her grabbing the back of his head, pulling him close, determined to make the moment as cringe-worthy and uncomfortable as she could before moving on to the next poor sap who happened to be feeling especially desperate that week.

Finally, Dean was able to pull out of her strong grip and step back, his eyes snapping open, hand swiping across his mouth.

"Well," she grinned, leaning up against the wall with a smug look of satisfaction on Sam's face, "was it as good for you as it was for me?"

"You didn't have to get his tongue in there," Dean muttered, still wiping at his mouth.

"Yeah I did," she insisted. "So?"

Grudgingly, Dean grabbed a can of spray paint from its resting place on Sam's bed and sprayed a quick line over the symbol, breaking its hold on the demon.

"Thanks, sweetie," she cooed, stepping from the Trap and smiling at Dean, "see you around."

Before he had a chance to respond, Sam's mouth opened and the demon flew from the room in a cloud of black smoke. Dean barely had time to react as Sam's limp body pitched forward. Grunting, the elder brother drug his unconscious sibling to the bed and laid him down before running to the bathroom to wash his mouth out.

* * *

Funny story time! I needed a way to turn the whole Mary-possessing-Sam idea into an actual story, and Sam actually being possessed by the RED seemed awesome. I actually was really psyched about the plot twist when I went to bed the night I thought it up. The next morning, my first thought after waking up was "Oh, crap! They have to kiss!" But I figured it was a sacrifice worth making :)

That story sounded funnier when my friends were laughing at me about it.


	5. Chapter 5

Final chapter. Thanks again to everyone who bothered to read and review. I'm glad that at least SOMEONE was interested :)

* * *

Sam blinked, slowly rising into consciousness. He sat up on his bed and looked around, surprised to find himself in control of his actions for the first time in two days. Everything rushed back in startling clarity, including the events that lead up to his freedom. "Uh, Dean?"

"Morning, sleepyhead."

Sam turned toward the small kitchen to see Dean sitting at the table, his eyes roving over a newspaper. "Um…"

"So, how much do you remember?"

Sam gulped and slid off the bed, walking over to the table to sit across from his brother. "I woke up two days ago to find myself staring at you. I wasn't in control, I couldn't do anything about it, but," he lowered his voice, "I wasn't scared. It wasn't like that time with Meg. It felt different. It's hard to explain, but back then I felt cold, like I would never be happy again."

"Like a Dementor attack," Dean observed, glancing up from his paper.

"What?"

"You know, Dementors. Harry Potter? They're the guardians of-"

"I know what they are, Dean. I'm just surprised you do."

"What? I can't read?"

"Not children's books." Dean scowled and turned back to the paper. "Anyway," Sam continued, "this time was different. It was warm, and I felt safe and comfortable. Like I felt back at Stanford with Jess," he paused as a pained look crossed his brother's face, "or like when we were kids and dad left us alone together and you took care of me." He waited for a smile before continuing with his story. "I knew. Somehow, I knew. And she knew that I knew, and… I dunno, it was like we were talking, off and on all day, and she told me what she was doing and why she was here. She told me she wouldn't be able to stay long."

"Wait," Dean said slowly, looking back over the paper at his brother, "you mean…?"

Yeah," Sam nodded excitedly, smiling wide, "yeah. It was really her. It was mom."

Dean nodded. "I thought I was going crazy, missing something that obvious."

"What do you mean?"

The older man chuckled. "I actually thought I'd been wrong that first day. Thought maybe it was that demon the whole time."

"No, you were right. It was mom."

"What about today?"

Sam lowered his eyes, looking down at his hands, which were sitting on the table in front of him. "Today it was like Meg. I was awake, and it was cold, and the Dementors were attacking." He grinned half-heartedly. "And then she tried to get you to back out of your deal, told you mom was gonna stay with you, and I tried to warn you, but I couldn't. She was too strong."

"No harm done," Dean shrugged, his eyes back on the paper, "I figured it out."

"For a minute there, I wasn't entirely sure you would," Sammy admitted.

"Well I did. You're welcome."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, thanks. So, um, was it as awkward for you as it was for me?"

Dean set the paper down at looked at his brother, his face stoic. "Was what awkward?"

"You know that whole first day. Mom was kinda touchy-feely, wasn't she?"

"Yes, she was," Dean nodded.

The brothers sat at the kitchen table for a while, staring, each daring the other to say it first. Finally, Sam stood up and headed to the bathroom. "Gotta shower," he muttered, "maybe brush my teeth."

"I saw fireworks," Dean said suddenly, stopping Sam in his tracks.

"What?" the younger asked, turning to stare at him.

Dean nodded. "I saw fireworks. And I heard angels sing."

"What are you talking about?" Sammy asked, edging toward the bathroom.

"I think you know," Dean grinned, wagging his eyebrows.

"Uh… not really."

"You can't fight love," Dean shouted after him as Sam finally made it to the bathroom and slammed the door. He smiled to himself, knowing that things were back to normal, that the next day they would be out on the road again, saving people and hunting things. Together.

From the bathroom, he heard Sam gargling, and laughed.

* * *

So, any final thoughts on the story now that it's done? 


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